Love & Liquor
by Reinamy
Summary: It's not unusual for Mikasa to catch someone's eye, but it is unusual for someone to catch hers. Rivamika, Modern AU.


**Pairing:** Levi/Mikasa, hints of Annie/Armin

 **Author's Note:** This was written for the prompt, _"Mikasa asking Levi out."_ Anon didn't specify whether they wanted this to be set in the canonverse or not, so I took the easy way out and tossed the characters into a Modern AU. My apologies if this isn't what you wanted, Anon! I hope you like it anyway!

Rivamika has stolen my heart, ya'll. Someone please send help.

Happy reading!

* * *

 **x-x-x**

* * *

 **I.**

"You've been eyeing that guy all night," Annie comments, and there's barely a pause in Mikasa's movements as she sets a tankard in front of her, though the strength in which it's set down is telling.

"What? Which guy?" Armin cranes his head to scan the bar. Unfortunately it's early yet, barely dusk, and the room is empty save for her two friends, a few of the more dedicated drunkards, all scattered, and a group of six non-regulars sequestered in a corner table. Mikasa keeps her gaze trained on the bar top.

"I have not," she says, piercing Annie with a look that would've made anyone else sew their own mouth shut. Annie's expression is corpse-like in its stoicism, but Mikasa's known her long enough to distinguish the dancing mirth in her eyes for what it is.

"Oh? So you weren't blushing like a virgin bride when he came up to order? And I guess I mistook the heat in your eyes when he walked away for something else. Perhaps he spilled something on the floor? His ass is about level with it, I suppose."

Wordlessly, Mikasa flings the rag she's wiping the bar with at her, but Annie merely shifts aside and it shoots harmlessly past.

"Wait, you mean the short guy with the scowl?" Armin asks, turning to get a better look. " _Really_?"

" _Don't,"_ Mikasa says, because the last thing she wants is for Armin to draw the guy's attention. "And Iwasn't blushing," she definitely wasn't, "or staring at his ass." She was, actually, but like hell is she going to admit that.

"Do you know who he is?" Armin asks, thankfully abandoning his idea to get a glimpse.

"No. And I don't care, either. Now pass me the rag."

"Maybe you should reconsider throwing it at paying customers next time," Annie advises. "What would shorty over there think if he'd seen?"

Armin adds, "I didn't want to say anything, but that was pretty gross, Mikasa."

Mikasa gives up. She rounds the bar and goes to retrieve the rag herself.

She's in the process of lifting it from the floor when the sensation of being watched hits her and she instinctively looks up. The man from earlier is looking at her, eyes hooded as he sips his drink, dark even under the fluorescent light fixture directly above his table.

For a moment Mikasa feels like she's being pinned under his intense stare, muscles and joints locking, heart stuttering, heat stealing into her cheeks, and it feels like betrayal, her body responding in such a way without her consent. She narrows her eyes, irritated with this man for prompting such a response from her and with herself for letting him, but he doesn't avert his gaze like she expects him to. He continues to stare, mouth lifting at the corners like he's _amused_ by her, and the temperature of her glare drops several degrees.

Neither of them back down, and Mikasa doesn't know how long she stands there, trying to browbeat the stranger through sheer force of will, only that when Armin eventually drags her away the bar has become more crowded and Eren, newly arrived, is shooting her looks that are equal parts bemused and annoyed as he hurries to take care of a swelling number of orders by himself.

Mikasa murmurs a quick apology as she moves past him to see to a trio of regulars.

And if her heartbeat refuses to decelerate, she chalks it up to how quickly she's moving to keep up with the ever-increasing demands for drinks. It has nothing at all to do with the stare she can feel like a firebrand against her skin, consistent for the remainder of the night.

* * *

 **II.**

"You're staring at me," Mikasa says, folding her arms.

"You were staring first," is Levi's juvenile retort.

She knows his name now. Hard not to, considering he's become a regular. It's been six weeks since he first stepped foot in _The 104_ _th_ _,_ and Mikasa's seen his stupidly attractive face a total of eleven times now—six times as part of a group and five times alone. Today falls under the second category, and from the moment he walked in, nearly an hour ago, he's done little else but nurse his drink and watch her take care of a surprisingly consistent string of orders, given it's a quarter to six on a Wednesday.

"I apologize. It's just that you seem to get smaller every time I see you."

"Funny. I wish I could say the same about your ass."

Mikasa's eyes narrow, not so bothered by the substance of his comment as by the fact that he comments at all. But it's been this way since the beginning—whatever Mikasa gives, Levi gives right back, matching her at every turn. She'll be lying if she says it doesn't intrigue her—most men tend to backtrack once they take a good, hard look at her and realize her personality doesn't match her looks, and that's even when she _tries_ to play nice.

But she hasn't been playing nice with Levi. Has done the opposite, even, yet he keeps coming back, week after week, and Mikasa is pretty sure she knows the reason why.

She watches as Levi drains the dredges of his cup, her eyes reflexively tracking the flex of his long, pale throat as he swallows it down. He licks his lips and she bites her own to keep from doing the same. It isn't until his mouth starts curling at the corners that she realizes what she's doing and snaps her gaze up, willing her mortification from her face. She evades Levi's amused eyes by seizing his empty glass and whirling around.

Back to him, she asks tightly, "You want a refill?"

"Sure."

The process of pouring tap beer into a weizen glass is regrettably short, and not before long she's sliding the drink across the formica bar top, where it connects with the palm of his hand.

He starts to say something, but is interrupted by a familiar voice shouting her name. They both turn to watch Eren pitch into the opening of the bar, face scrunched as he struggles with his necktie.

"Here, let me," Mikasa says, ignoring his eye roll as she snatches one crumpled tail and tugs him forward.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he says, staring up at the ceiling as she undoes what sloppy progress he's made and starts over.

"It's fine. How was your exam?"

"I think I aced it, but you know what that professor is like so who the fuck knows. Oh! But I found that book you've been looking for in the library and checked it out. It's in your locker. Just don't lose it like you lost the last one, alright?"

"That was two years ago," she protests, tightening the knot with a bit more force than is necessary and smirking when her bother squawks with indignation.

Eren rubs his neck and snipes, "You are the _actual worst_ and I hate you."

"I love you, too, Eren."

"Ugh, just go home."

Mikasa ruffles his hair, laughing when he glares at her and attempts to add some semblance of order to the chaos she admittedly contributed to. He stomps away, grumbling under his breath, and she shakes her head with a small, affectionate smile, and begins to walk away.

"So. That your boyfriend?"

She falters in her next step, chastising herself for having forgotten he's here.

Mikasa turns to him, considering his question.

The expression Levi is wearing is that of boredom—eyes blank, mouth set in its characteristic frown, tone bland as if they're discussing something as banal as the weather. Anyone else will look at him and see disinterest clear as day, but Mikasa isn't _anyone else_. She has enough experience with masks to know one when she sees one, no matter how well-crafted it is, and the one Levi is wearing now has nothing on Annie's default one, or even Mikasa's on a bad day.

Her eyes slide past the façade straight to its cracks—the enhanced crease between his brows, the barely perceptible whitening of his knuckles as he grips his glass, the subtle rigidity of his shoulders.

She observes all of it, compiling the information into a neat mental list as she turns his question over in her head.

Mikasa considers lying, but the thought leaves as quickly as it comes. She's no liar—at least not when there's a chance it will come back to bite her later—and the mere thought of claiming Eren to be her boyfriend, even in pretense, makes her stomach churn uncomfortably.

She can put an end to this—whatever _this_ is—right now. Tell him ' _no he's not, but I'm not interested regardless'_ and it'll be the last she'll see of him, she's sure of it. They haven't spoken much, their conversations thus far consisting of requests for drinks and the occasional barbed quip, but Mikasa likes to think she's a good judge of character. Levi keeps coming back because Mikasa hasn't given him a reason _not_ to. He'll stop the moment she does.

The thought shouldn't bother her, but it does.

She shouldn't care, but she does.

"No. He's my brother," she admits after a long pause. Thinks to herself, _what are you doing?_

"Brother?" Levi repeats, eyes losing their dullness. His glass hits the table with a wet _thunk_ as he sets it down and leans slightly forward, both elbows coming up to rest on it.

Under the ceiling lights his eyes look metallic, and Mikasa feels his sharp gaze like the point of a knife gliding over her skin. She shivers, feeling something warm beginning to unfurl in the pit of her stomach, and knows he catches it when his eyes gain shadows and his eyelashes dip.

"You don't look alike," he continues, eyes not straying from hers as he tips his glass back and forth. Not once does his beer come close to spilling over the rim.

"I'm adopted."

"Ah."

Mikasa places her hands in her apron pockets and forces her shoulders down a notch.

"So you're in college?"

"Yes. I'm a third year at Trost University. Kinesiology major. You?"

"You're asking what college I attend?" Levi asks, amused.

"Even the elderly deserve a college education," she says serenely, and has to restrain a grin when Levi levels her with a look that's peeved.

"Brat," he mutters. "And to answer your question, I'm a freelance artist. Don't look so surprised."

"The name's _Mikasa,_ " she stresses. Wisps of her hair fall to her face when she shifts, and she brushes it back, wishing she had the foresight to bring a hair tie.

"Yes, I'm aware," Levi says, voice pitched low, and Mikasa snaps her eyes to his then away again, face uncomfortably warm.

When her throat no longer feels like it's been filled with hot sand she brings herself to ask, "So how old are you anyway?"

"Older than I look."

She peers at him. "You look like you're in your late twenties."

"Try thirty-five."

Mikasa blinks, startled by that revelation. She studies him, but no matter how hard she looks she can't see it. The man has impressive genes.

"Is that a problem for you?" Levi asks, fingers falling away from his glass to drum against the counter. It's evident he's taking her silence the wrong way.

Mikasa thinks, _Why would it be? It's got nothing to do with me._

What she says instead is, "Honestly, I find your personality more concerning."

"Careful, Mikasa. I think you're projecting."

The retort hovering on the tip of her tongue vanishes when someone taps her shoulder, claiming her attention. It's Eren. He gestures towards his watch.

"Uh, Mikasa? It's six-thirty. Don't you have class in half an hour?"

His words take a second too long to register. When they do, her eyes widen and she inwardly swears.

"You can take my bike," Eren offers, squeezing her shoulder once before pulling away. "I can catch a ride with Jean—he owes me a favor anyway."

"You sure?" she asks, already in the process of untying her apron.

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't—hold your horses, I'm coming!" he shouts back when a customer on the opposite end of the bar yells him over. He shakes his head and jogs away, though not before shooting Levi a curious glance and Mikasa a questioning one as he goes.

No doubt he's going to be drilling her for information the instant he gets home. She isn't looking forward to it.

"So I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow," Levi remarks.

Mikasa drapes her apron over her arm, and after a brief moment of hesitation, says, "If I'm unlucky, I guess."

Levi snorts, and for the first time since she brought it to him, takes a swig of his drink.

"See ya, Mikasa."

It's not the first time he's said her name, but it is the first time he's said it in that low, gravelly tone that sends sparks of heat shooting down her spine. She exhales carefully, determined not to show this insufferable man how effortlessly he riles her, how easily she reacts.

"Levi." She nods once then walks away, fingers gripping her apron so tightly she's going to need to iron the creases out.

Her heart doesn't settle until she steps into the backroom and closes the door behind her, and the sensation of eyes on her back disappears.

* * *

 **III.**

It takes a month for Mikasa to realize that Levi is waiting on her to make the first move. A month of seeing each other nearly every other day; of hushed conversations during downtimes and traded quips during the busy moments in between; of not-quite-incidental finger brushes when cups are exchanged and shared glances of varying degrees. A month of wondering why Levi doesn't just ask her out, and of worrying whether she got it all wrong and he never intended to in the first place.

By the time April draws to a close, Mikasa's not so much annoyed as she is _frustrated_. She's irritated with Levi for not being more forward, and with herself for depending on him to be. Twice she came close to confronting him, and both times lost courage in the face of how _composed_ he was, never once revealing if she made him as flustered, as frustrated, as _frantic_ as he makes her. Only the increasing frequency of his presence at the bar, his penchant for staring at her like she's the only thing of interest in the room, and the occasional looks he gives her, as scorching as they are short-lived, keeps her from second-guessing his intentions towards her.

It's after one of Levi's briefer visits, cut short due to his work, when Mikasa asks herself why she, being considerably younger, should need to make the first move at all, that it _clicks._

It's precisely _because_ she's younger that he's holding back, that he's handing her control of the reins.

He made his interest known, and not wanting to make her uncomfortable, is waiting on her to make the next move.

Mikasa attempts to hold onto her irritation but like sublimating ice it turns into smoke and slips through her fingers.

She vows to triple the price of his drink the next time he comes around in revenge for both the angst he's caused her and the fact that Jean now has a picture of her smiling— _soppily_ , as he put it—and is trying to sell copies for cash.

* * *

 **IV.**

As he warned her might happen, Levi doesn't drop by for another week, and when he does it's with the same group of friends he has drinks with every Friday night. They walk into the semi-crowded bar shortly after seven and head straight for their usual corner table. Mikasa pauses from where she's refilling a peanut tray and follows their trek, eyes lingering on Levi until the man, likely sensing it, turns and catches her gaze. She ducks her head.

"I see you're still mooning over the midget," Annie observes from her seat, swiping a peanut and cracking it open. She pops it into her mouth and chews, loudly, then drops the empty shell onto the bar and goes for another one.

"He's not a midget," Mikasa says, eyeing the mess she's making.

Annie raises a brow. "No denial over mooning, I see."

"Mikasa's advanced from mooning a while ago," Armin chimes in. "She's stuck firmly in the eye-fucking stage right now."

"Armin!" Mikasa's appalled, not so much by the language itself than by who's using it. She forgets sometimes than Armin isn't the sweet summer child he likes to pretend he is, that he has a mischievous streak a mile wide and a knack for utilizing it when it's least convenient.

She gives his innocent mien the glare it deserves as she slides the peanut tray out of reach of Annie, who's already on her twelfth.

"Oi, Mikasa!" Jean beckons her towards him, and she goes, taking the peanut tray with her just to piss Annie off. "Krista's running a little late so would you mind taking care of table #6?" Levi's table. Of course it is. "Marco's been covering for her but he just went on break."

"I don't mind," she assures him.

Jean grins. "Beautiful _and_ kind."

"I'm going now," Mikasa says, rolling her eyes once her back is turned. She quickly washes and dries her hands at the sink then ducks out from behind the bar and steps out onto the floor. She grimaces when her boots stick like taffy to the wood as she walks, and makes note of the area so she can relay the info to Marco as soon as he's off break.

Mikasa approaches the table quickly, and wishes she can blame the fluttery sensation in her chest on something other than its actual cause, but she's never made a habit out of lying to herself, and despite the temptation, doesn't care to start. The room seems to grow quieter as she halts an arm's length away, both the chatter of the customers and the soft rock streaming through the speakers losing volume as the seconds tick by. She exhales, preparing to pitch a customary greeting and get this over with, when without her permission her eyes seek out Levi's, connects, and the words crawl back down her throat, paving the way for other words instead.

"Go out with me," she says without thinking. It comes out like a demand, and her face burns with embarrassment as the table goes utterly quiet and all eyes swivel to her.

Mikasa doesn't back down. She stands her ground, spine straight and gaze steady, daring Levi to say anything that isn't heartfelt agreement.

So of course what leaves his mouth is, "Took you long enough, brat."

Tension she doesn't realized she's carrying bleeds from her shoulders. She unclenches her hands.

"Apologies. It took me a while to decide whether I wanted to date someone as tall as my hip."

Her retort prompts titters from the table, and she purses her lips to conceal a smirk.

Levi rolls his eyes, but when he looks at her again they're crinkled at the corners and his mouth is curved in a pleased smile.

Mikasa loses the battle with herself and smiles back.

* * *

 **Finis**

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks so much for reading my first rivamika fic! I hope I didn't butcher her character too terribly, haha! Comments are appreciated, as always! 'Til next time!


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